


Part One

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Community: kakairu, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘The pleasant comfort of death is in knowing that life is only part one.’  </p><p>Iruka and Kakashi find solace in each other and in themselves, surrounded by the darkness of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part One

He did not remember his own funeral. He wondered if he should, and stopped for a moment to think about it. He couldn’t remember anything past lying on the ground and thinking that it was awfully dewy for being past midday in the summer. He remembered before that (or was it at the same time? Maybe everything occurred simultaneously) some hands on his chest, skin tainted a funny, sickly colour by the glow of green chakra. He recalled yelling (a lot of that) and some pleading words from Naruto that he wished he’d hadn’t heard at all. He felt poorly about it now, as though he’d betrayed Naruto in some way. But it couldn’t be helped. Everyone died, in the end.

He walked on for a few steps; the echo of his footsteps was loud and daunting, and he didn’t care for the theatrics of it all. But he remembered suddenly a phrase from a book he’d read, and thinking about it made his anxiety dwindle. Jiraiya had a knack for writing, he’d admit; yes, if he recalled correctly, it was from his first novel _, A Tale of a Gutsy Ninja,_ which Iruka had read first as a teen of sixteen and cried terribly while doing so. It was a sad but uplifting novel, in its own way.

 _‘The pleasant comfort of death is in knowing that life is only part one.’_ That was the phrase. He liked the thought of it; part one. Maybe this would be part two, then. Maybe there’d be a part three, or a part five, or a part fifteen. He liked the thought of that, too.

  
There was a fire up ahead, from what he could see, and a series of rocks around it as though it was a campsite. There was no one around to light said fire, as far as he was concerned, but… well, he’d come to realize that he left the norms of the life he knew behind when he exited that life itself. He took a seat. The fire wasn’t warm. It was like there was nothing there at all. He thought briefly about touching it, but decided against it, and then spent the next few moments debating on the pros and cons of potentially burning part of his hand. He had little use for his body if he was dead. 

The fact that the fire was the only source of light, and that everything around him was pitch black with no sign of end was probably what kept him from walking on. The rock wasn’t comfortable by any means, but the rest was appreciated; it helped his nerves more than anything. He wondered if that was silly: to be unafraid of death, but to be afraid of what came after. He didn’t mind admitting that he was afraid now, since there wasn’t anyone to admit it to. The isolation was as comforting as it was unsettling.  He’d have missed the sound entirely if it weren’t for his good hearing, and the fact that it was the only other sound to be heard at all save for his own breathing. Little steps, slowly approaching behind him. He didn’t turn around.

“Resting already?” He felt as though it took him far too long to react, but when he did, it was with a mixture of surprise and happiness and concern all blended together to make a facial expression that caused Kakashi’s quiet laughter. “What a face. You should see it.” Kakashi, on the other hand, looked tired and worn, but happily so. He looked like a man that’d spent from sunup to sundown in the hot sun, working himself to the bone because he liked to. Iruka wondered if Kakashi _did_ like working himself to the bone, but dismissed it; it was more likely that working himself to that extent was a means to an end.

“…so soon?” he murmured, and Kakashi smiled. He didn’t answer right away, but he did take a seat on a rock near Iruka’s. He pulled his mask down, and extended his hands as though warming them by the fire. Iruka wondered if the fire was warm for him. He didn’t ask.

“Not that soon,” said Kakashi, putting his hands down. “Overdue, when you think about it. Skirted around death too many times to live to old age.” He smiled again, and glanced over to Iruka. “I know you wanted me to.” The corners of his eyes crinkled like paper, and he seemed genuinely happy about their situation. “But, well…” Kakashi shrugged, leaving it unfinished. 

Iruka only nodded. He found that his throat felt dry as he spoke, and tried clearing it. Kakashi looked over again, and mistaking the throat-clearing for some upset emotion on Iruka’s part, took hold of Iruka’s hand and slipped his fingers in-between. This was how it often went whenever Iruka was upset; Kakashi would freeze (each time it occurred, the momentary cold panic lasted for less), and then he’d consult his mental list of ‘Iruka fixes’ by way of soothing his partner’s turmoil. The hand-holding seemed to do a lot of good, and he was both happy and willing to go back to it time and time again. Iruka’s silence prompted him to say something; this, too, was something Kakashi had picked up on over the years. Some silences were good, warm, welcome—some were heavy, stifling, unwanted. He wasn’t sure where this fell, and decided against being overly optimistic about it. “We’re buried together.” Iruka looked up, surprised. “Naruto’s doing. Said he’d see it done, no matter what. M’guessing he worked it out. Told him a few things myself. Last words, and all that. Told him not to overdo it with the flowers. Flowers never last long. He cried and laughed at the same time and it looked stupid. Made me laugh, too.”

The grip that Iruka had on Kakashi’s hand had become progressively tighter as Kakashi’s little story went on. Oh, Naruto; Iruka would’ve found the world a dull shade of grey without him. He wished he had more time to say it. When he voiced that thought to Kakashi, Kakashi shook his head. “You did enough for him.” 

“There’s no glass ceiling on something like that,” Iruka argued, sighing. “I regret a lot.”

“Do you? Like what?”

“I wanted to adopt him. Should’ve. Didn’t.”

It was Kakashi’s turn to nod. “That,” he said, “is just… something on paper, you know. Wouldn’t have made a difference. He knew what you meant.” Iruka thought that Kakashi sounded wiser than normal, and somehow, even with the topic being as saddening as it was, he laughed.

He thought again about them, about the black room with no walls, about the cold fire, about Kakashi’s hand around his own. They’d really gone. He’d never see Naruto become Hokage. He’d never see him get married. He’d never see his children, or his grandchildren. He’d never witness his cactus blooming—the one he named after Kakashi because of its lengthy blooming time alone. He wasn’t afraid of death, but it didn’t mean he was ready for it as well as he should’ve been. Maybe people were right when they said that a shinobi shouldn’t build a nest for himself. Iruka’s nest would grow cold and dusty, half-built. 

“Are you sad?” asked Kakashi, and squeezed down on Iruka’s hand to comfort him just in case. Iruka smiled, but it wasn’t all there. Was he sad? Not as sad as he was before, with Kakashi here, but Kakashi was very right in saying that Iruka had wished he’d live longer. They both knew of Iruka’s arguably impractical pipe dream of living ‘till they were grey, with rocking chairs and eight dogs and whatever family they managed to make for themselves. 

“No,” said Iruka. He didn’t feel like he was lying. “I’m alright like this. I think I had a good life, you know. Bit peeved I’ll never get to finish that paint by numbers, though. I was almost done, too. Sai even said it looked good.” 

The fire was cold, but his tears were as warm as they ever were while he had body heat left in him. Kakashi moved on instinct, scooting closer, and removed his hand from Iruka’s only to put it around Iruka’s shaking shoulders. Iruka was, and probably would be (for whatever time they had left to _be_ anything at all), the more emotional of the two. Kakashi found himself unusually drawn to that side of Iruka. A shinobi was meant to hide his emotions—or so they were all taught in school. But Iruka broke that rule many times over, and still managed to be someone admirable in Kakashi’s eyes. He thought about that with a smile, and didn’t try to shush Iruka’s crying. When Iruka leaned into him, Kakashi rubbed his back like Iruka would rub his on the days he’d hit rock bottom all over again.  They were both probably thinking, ‘At least he’s here’, but neither said it. They both probably knew the other was thinking it, too, and that meant both a comfort and selfishness to them. 

Iruka’s crying met its end eventually. Kakashi didn’t care how much time passed. There was no schedule to hell, as far as he was concerned. They remained there, with Iruka’s head tucked cosily against Kakashi’s neck, and Kakashi’s arm around him.

“Can we stay here? For a little.” Iruka found Kakashi’s free hand and held it with both his own. 

“For a lot,” Kakashi replied, and rubbed his thumb over Iruka’s finger. “No rush.” There was always a sort of shaky inhale, a pause, and then an exhale that happened whenever Iruka wanted to say something but was still in the process of figuring out whether he should say it at all. Kakashi learned throughout their time together that if he waited, Iruka would speak eventually. 

“What happens if we keep going?”

Kakashi thought about the question for a moment and then said, “I don’t know.” 

“There’s a risk.” Kakashi nodded, and Iruka sighed, sounding frustrated. “I feel… like we’ve—we’ve been… both trying to balance our duties to the village, and our duties to each other, and our duties to ourselves, and it’s so… much. All of it. It was so much. And we deserve a—a break, don’t we? I wanted one, you know. I applied for a vacation.” Kakashi made a hum of mild surprise, and Iruka sniffled. “But, I mean, well—we’re _dead_. But we’re here. And we’re here _together_ , and nothing’s _happening_ , so…”

Kakashi always admired Iruka’s ability to talk about himself as easily as he could. He, on the other hand, had enough trouble explaining himself to the marble slab that was meant to represent Obito’s corpse, or the little concrete one set for Rin—and those didn’t even talk back. Iruka continued: “I want to stay like this. I can’t say that it’s unfair that we didn’t have time to spend like this with each other, because we had obligations to fulfil. But… I’d—I’d like to… to make the most of this.” Iruka, Kakashi thought, was the kind of man who’d want to make the most out of everything. Yet another addition to his constantly-growing list of things he admired about him, and he knew it was something many others admired just as much.

“Never said we couldn’t,” he replied gently. Iruka’s head was just enough near his for him to let his own rest against it. Iruka relaxed, and so did he. After one of those comfortable silences settled, Kakashi said, “I feel good.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I feel good.” In truth, he had that feeling of cool lightness that came after every long healing session with Tsunade. He felt as though the tension in his muscles faded completely, and he was so unfamiliar with the feeling that he was sure that if Iruka wasn’t half on him, he’d have floated away. “Easier to breathe.” 

“Was it hard to before?” 

“Funny thing,” replied Kakashi. Iruka’s hair smelled like vanilla. “It wasn’t. I didn’t think it was. But compared to this, it must have been.” Iruka smiled, and brought Kakashi’s hand to his mouth.

“I’m glad,” he said. Iruka meant it. Hiruzen told him once when he was a boy that death offered a solace that even the most loving family couldn’t offer. ‘ _God himself couldn’t give the peace that comes with death, my boy. Death comes at the end, because we save the best for last.’_ Iruka remembered thinking Hiruzen was a little wrong about it. But he understood now. He thought he did. “Tell me.”

And Kakashi he did. When he spoke again, it was with a relaxing sigh, and he spoke as though he was reciting memoirs for someone to write, except not half as grand as people usually sounded when they did that. He sounded at peace with himself, as though he was admitting it all to an old friend, but in a way that showed some sort of forced wisdom gained throughout his hardships. “I think Obito forgave me,” he said, and Iruka nodded. “I think he did, and I think Rin did, too. In the end. I think she forgave me first. Maybe she convinced him to forgive me. But I think he forgave me properly. There’s a lot of that. Forgiveness.” He felt chattier than he did when he’d had too much to drink, and not a thing could stop him. “I thought I forgave my father a while ago, but I feel like I’ve only really forgiven him now. Maybe that’s how it is. We only do things half-way, or three-quarters, and the rest comes all at the end. I feel like I’ve forgiven my mother for leaving us both so soon, but I don’t think I ever resented her for it in my life.”

They stared at the fire together in cozy, warm silence. “Do you have regrets?” Iruka asked. Kakashi thought about it.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I have things I’m glad for, too. I used to think I made a mess of my team. Back then, with Obito and Rin and sensei, and later on with the kids. But I think it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.” 

“Not by a long shot,” supplied Iruka, and they both chuckled. 

“In the end, I think I managed to do some good with them. Sasuke’s still Sasuke. Naruto’s still Naruto. But Sakura can keep them both in line, and Yamato will look after the rest. Not much left to see too, anyway. They’ve grown up.”

“Funny how it all works out like that, isn’t it?” 

“Hilarious.”        

* * *

 

They sat like that without a single thought of moving. They talked about everything: anything they’d left unsaid in their lifetimes, both to each other and to others. Kakashi was able to say that he loved Iruka for all he was, and Iruka smiled like the sun. Kakashi thought that the fire could’ve died out completely, and he’d still be able to see just fine from Iruka’s brilliant happiness alone. He didn’t say that, though. That was too much. But he did tell him that he meant what he said when he told Iruka that he looked nice with his hair messy, and when he said that his cooking was great. He told him that the instance with the pink, shrunken shirt was his own fault, and that he blamed the laundry mishap on Naruto to avoid Iruka’s wrath. Iruka laughed, swatted Kakashi’s head, and Kakashi laughed with him. His mask had long gone down, and he didn’t look ready to ever put it on again. 

“I thought about you a lot during missions,” he said, and Iruka grinned. 

“Yeah? Go on, go on. Feed my ego.” 

“Yamato would tease me about it and say I looked like a sad schoolgirl.”

“And did you?” 

“Probably.” 

Iruka laughed again, and so did Kakashi.

* * *

 “My mother used to make these cheese puffs when I was a kid—tasted great. Not too sweet, not too salty—they were to die for.” He snorted, and Kakashi chuckled. Kakashi was lying on his back, and Iruka was beside him on his stomach. “So, I tried to make it one day. Thought you’d like it, right. Oh, _man_ —you should’ve been there. I mean, I was glad you weren’t, because it was a _disaster_ , and Naruto almost called for _help_ , but—I think, well—could you consider that a family bonding experience? Nearly burning the apartment down, I mean.”

 “You _burnt_ it?”

 “I _massacred_ it. I don’t know what happened. Smelled like _shit_ , looked terrible, smoke was everywhere, Naruto had to go outside for some fresh air.” He was laughing again, hard enough for his eyes to water. He wiped at them.

 “And then what happened?”

 “Cleaned the place up, aired it out, ordered sushi. You came home that night and asked why the sushi was there, remember?”

 Kakashi thought back, and then grinned. “Yeah. Wondered why the place smelled like bleach, too.”

 “That was for the pans. Naruto’s _brilliant idea,_ of course. Needed new ones anyway.”

 “You made them for me?”

 “I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Iruka admitted, and his cheeks looked a little red. Kakashi smiled, and Iruka nudged his side. “Hey, don’t look so cocky about it.”

 “Hey, let me have this one time.”

 “Just the one, then.”

* * *

 

 “I love you.”

 “Me too. I love you.”

 “No, I mean it.” Kakashi was on his side, using his arm as a pillow, and Iruka lay across from him doing the same. “Remember when you told me that I should stop isolating myself? One of your lectures to me about my lack of social skills.” Iruka made a snorting noise. “You said, ‘Don’t turn yourself into an island. Islands all sink eventually’. I thought you were stupid.”

 “Wha—how rude!”

 Kakashi chuckled. “I really did. And then you barged into my life—“

 “—you left the door open.”

 “— _barged_ into my life, and shook things up.”

 “—more like I was putting things back in order.”

 Iruka looked triumphant, and Kakashi admitted that Iruka did have a valid point. “You changed me.”

 “No, I didn’t. You changed yourself. I just showed you which way to go to do that.”

 “Modest, modest. Doesn’t suit you, _sensei.”_ He reached out and put his hand on Iruka’s cheek, and watched Iruka’s own hand come up to hold it there. His fingers looked long and thin and awkward. He’d long since flung his gloves somewhere into the darkness. “First, I realized that you were right about a lot of things.”

 “—and that took you a damn long time, as I recall.”

 Kakashi rolled his eyes. “…then, I realized that you’d become a normal part of my life. Whenever I tried thinking of things happening without you around, I’d feel weird. Then, I realized I wanted you to stick around for… well, forever. Then, I realized I loved you. Yeah. That’s how it went.”

 Iruka smiled, and kissed what he could reach of Kakashi’s hand. Kakashi craned his neck forward, and Iruka met him halfway. The kiss tasted like ash. “I loved you a while before then, I think,” said Iruka. “But I still wanted to snap your neck almost regularly.”

 “Glad you didn’t.”

 “Yeah. I’m not into necrophilia.” 

* * *

 

 They spent the time sharing stories, confessing secrets, admitting feelings, kissing, hugging, enjoying silence, laughing loudly. Kakashi surprised Iruka with some of his insightful thoughts about Iruka, and Iruka surprised Kakashi with some of his secret thoughts on Kakashi. They exchanged dreams, and Kakashi admitted that he only started dreaming at all after being with Iruka. Before that, he explained, it was nightmares or nothing.

 They were sitting closer to the fire now that they’d established it as a non-threat, and were using its light to draw finger portraits in the dirt. Iruka commented on Kakashi’s poor artistic skills, and Kakashi said that Iruka’s were even poorer. They didn’t hear the footsteps, as Iruka’s laughter was buoyant, and Kakashi’s chuckles were deep.

 “Never in my life have I seen two grown men act so young.”

 They turned, and Kakashi was on the defensive for the first time since they’d ended up here. Iruka, too, was cautious. It wasn’t a voice they recognized. The light of the fire shone on Kakashi’s face, and the angle he was turned at had him looking more frightening than Iruka remembered his ‘war face’ to be. The man standing in front of them was old and wrinkled, hands clasped behind his back. The fire’s light only went so far, and all they could really make of him as he was now was his standard shinobi footwear, his red cloak, and wrinkled smile. “You look like a couple of idiots, ‘ _ttebayo_.”

Iruka felt like he was being choked. Kakashi didn’t say a word. Both must’ve had matching expressions, because Naruto walked forward, sat on a rock, and smiled that old, wrinkled smile that neither of the men knew whether they liked or not. 

For a long while, nobody said anything. Naruto remained smiling, Kakashi remained silent, Iruka remained looking startled and confused and somewhat in despair.

 “I missed you two.”

 Iruka wouldn’t have been able to say something if Kakashi hadn’t replied just then. “Jeez,” he said, “you _don’t_ age good.”

_“—oi!”_

From where his hand had landed on Iruka’s, Kakashi gave it a squeeze. Iruka squeezed back. “Naruto?”

 “The one and only,” he grinned. When he smiled, his eyes shut, and the creases at the corners were even more pronounced. His bright blond hair was shorter now, and not quite as bright or blond as it used to be. It was greying, and he reminded Iruka a little of Hiruzen, while he reminded Kakashi of Jiraiya. “You two haven’t changed a bit.”

 Iruka smiled. “Naruto…”

 “Don’t get that look,” said Naruto, and when Iruka looked inquisitive, he added, “You get that look whenever you’re about to cry. Nothing to be sad about, sensei. Unless you’re sad that I outlived you.”

 “Far from it. Don’t sass me.” Naruto chuckled. Iruka was surprised at how different he seemed. The Hokage cloak he wore was ratty and faded, but it suited him well. Beside him, Kakashi had relaxed, and was staring at the cloak with a fond smile. They enjoyed the silence for a while longer. “Tell me about yourself.”

 Naruto looked as though he’d already thought up an essay just for this sort of question. “I became Hokage. I know you’re not really surprised, but that’s where I’ll start. I think… I was a good Hokage.” Iruka opened his mouth halfway to say something, but Naruto continued on with such excitement that Iruka just smiled and closed it again. “And I married Sakura-chan, ‘ttebayo!” Naruto seemed far away, now, as though he was daydreaming as he spoke. “We had three kids. I, uh—“ He stopped here and laughed, scratching the back of his head. “—named one after you, Iruka-sensei. Uzumaki Iruka. Nice ring to it, right?” And Iruka’s surprised (yet appropriately touched, just a little teary-eyed) expression caused Naruto to laugh. "You... were always there for me, you know? First person to believe in me. You had faith in me when no-one else did. Felt like it was appropriate. You were a good person to name someone after; I'd have wanted them all to turn out as good a person as you were." Iruka had very little to say that would convey just how he felt, but it seemed unnecessary to say anything at all. He smiled, and Naruto gave him a knowing nod.

 “What about me?” asked Kakashi lazily.

 “Named the family dog after you.”

 It was Iruka’s turn to laugh heartily. “Did _Uzumaki Iruka_ grow into a fine young man?”

 “Best prankster the village had _ever_ seen,” said Naruto, clearly boasting. “He’s the middle child. Special jounin, now. Two boys of his own.”

 Naruto spoke of his children, his village, his acts as Hokage; the peace maintained, the threats that surfaced, the battles won and those lose made up a long, gentle tale of the life he made for himself after Kakashi and Iruka’s passing. Naruto’s reign as Hokage was hailed as the best span of leadership Konoha had faced. The help he’d gotten from a new council, with Shikamaru as advisor, had prompted almost unrivalled support from the village. He was the village’s most loved hero, and one well deserving of that title. Iruka couldn’t have been more proud. He said as much, and Naruto nodded.

 “Thank you. Not just for being proud—thank you for everything. Thank you for giving your life for me—for the village. Both of you. Thank you for loving me like family, Iruka-sensei. Thank you for treating me like part of yours. Kakashi-sensei, thank you for looking out for me. Thank you for being there. Thank you both… for giving me the foundation I needed to succeed. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without you. You can’t deny that.”  

 When Naruto stood, Kakashi and Iruka looked up at him. “Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-sensei…thank you. I know I’m repeating myself, but… you probably couldn’t hear me when I said it to your graves every day with all the laughing you did up here, huh?” He grinned. Iruka thought he really did remind him of Hiruzen. He’d even gotten shorter as he aged.

 He walked two steps, stopped, and turned. “Coming?”

 And for the first time in… _years,_ it would seem, Kakashi and Iruka revisited the thought of walking through the darkness together. They’d thought it had been hours spent chatting about dreams and confessions and silly stories, but time didn’t move as it did elsewhere. Had they been there that long? Kakashi had yet to release Iruka’s hand, and Iruka didn’t want him to.  There was no telling way lay in or beyond the darkness. There was no guarantee, no promise, no act of reassurance; they could be ushered to the next stage, the part two of it all, and find themselves among those lost—or they could walk until their hands released and wake alone, with no partner in sight.

 Would they forget the life they left behind, and the memories they made in the firelight? Would they forget each other, their love, their hardships, their love? Would they find themselves at ground zero, meant to start all over again? And if they did… would it be worth it?

  _\--‘coming?’_

 Iruka looked at Kakashi, and Kakashi looked at him. Naruto waited patiently, a dozen questions on his lips. Kakashi leaned in, touched his forehead to Iruka’s, and closed his eyes.

“Not this time,” he said, and Naruto looked rather as though he’d expected them to say something entirely different. It only lasted a second, and the surprise faded into sad understanding. “Not this time, kid.”

 Naruto raised his arm, and Kakashi waved back. Iruka gave him the kind of smile a parent gave their child on a monumental occasion in their life, when they’ve realized in the most heart-wrenching, painful way that their child was no longer a child at all. They didn’t need to say goodbye. There was no need for that, and neither wanted to hear the words out loud. So Naruto walked, hands clasped behind him, and it was only when they’d lost sight of him in the darkness did they hear, _“See you around, ‘ttebayo!”_ echo after him.  

 Iruka’s grip on Kakashi never wavered. He remained staring, looking as though he half-expected Naruto to come running back. He didn’t. Iruka waited in silence until Kakashi urged him back to other thoughts. He never did come, even though Iruka kept looking back every so often.

"Are you happy?" Kakashi asked suddenly; Iruka seemed thoughtful.

"Yes, I think I am."

"You had a fixation on it, didn't you? On growing old. You wanted us to grow old together. Naruto, too."

Iruka couldn't deny that. "I always thought it'd be a blessing," he said, sighing. "And... well, half of it was to prove you wrong. You always thought you'd die young. I didn't think you would, somehow. I don't really know why. That saying about shinobi all dying young... I thought it was just a poor myth. I thought we'd make it. I really did." Kakashi smiled, and Iruka settled against him. "I guess I'm glad that out of all of us... Naruto made it. To old age, I mean. If anyone were to deserve such a happy ending... it'd be him." Kakashi nodded, silently agreeing, and Iruka shut his eyes. "He really... accomplished the impossible, didn't he?"

 Time kept passing. They couldn’t tell one second from another, a minute from the next, a day from a year, but time kept going. They didn’t care to count. No-one came after that. It never got chilly, or warm, or wet. They never hungered, nor did they tire; they revisited sadness only in small increments, whenever they talked of the parts of the past they regretted the most.

And they never left. They never moved past the fire. They remained there, hand in hand, head against head. They resumed their chatter occasionally, but spent the majority of their isolation in that comfortable, welcomed silence that most wished for. They would never be reborn; they would never find each other again in the next life.

 But that was fine. Life was only part one, after all; part two was infinite.  

 

 


End file.
